


Throw Yourself at the Ground and Miss

by solomonara



Series: Chaos Theory [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Coping, Distress, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitalization, Paraplegia, Permanent Injury, Serious Injuries, Stress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solomonara/pseuds/solomonara
Summary: Dick's still on the road looking for himself when the Joker shoots Babs.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson
Series: Chaos Theory [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/970407
Comments: 8
Kudos: 121





	Throw Yourself at the Ground and Miss

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ by Douglas Adams.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [DragonSorceress22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22)

The phone was for emergencies, and Dick had decided two things the moment it was given to him.

One: there was no emergency big enough to make him use it.

Two: if Bruce used it to pester him, he would run it over with his bike.

He'd been on the road for months and the phone had not been a problem. But now it was ringing.

He dug it out of his pack and held it in his palm. It barely covered the strange sigil inked into his skin. It was just a burner phone, nothing sophisticated about it, but Dick recognized the number. It was the manor's line, not the Cave's, and so he answered it.

"Hello?" Such a mundane greeting; he'd considered snapping off a _What?_ or a short _Yes?_ but the fact that it might be Alfred on the other end kept him civil.

And, indeed, it was Alfred. But for once, for the only time in Dick's memory, he skipped the pleasantries.

"It's Miss Barbara. I think— I think you had better come."

The hospital room was dark when he arrived. He let himself in through a window. It had taken him too long to get here – he'd been on a different _coast_ , and he could only go as fast as physics would allow, now, even if he disregarded all other laws. Too long, though from what Alfred had told him it didn't matter. He couldn't overtake the past. But he wouldn't be delayed one second more, and so: in through a window that barely opened wide enough, into a darkened room with just one patient, sleeping.

He'd half expected to have to deal with a small flock of bats, but Babs was alone for the moment.

They'd left her alone. Here in the dark. In a hospital. In a hospital bed. Alone.

He collapsed into the one chair next to the bed and put his face in his hands and willed himself not to cry.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

There was a sharp intake of breath, a hiss of sudden fear, and he picked his head up.

" _Dick_ ," Babs said, exhaling in relief. "Fuck." She rubbed a shaky hand down her face. "Did you sneak in?"

"Just now. Wasn't hard," he commented, a tentative question in it.

"I guarantee B knows you're here. He's remote monitoring. And whoever my bodyguard is at the moment will be back before too long. Can't get two minutes to myself around here." She didn't sound annoyed. She didn't sound anything. Just flat. "Who told you?"

"Alfred. Right after. Did they get him?"

"Yeah."

"And your dad?"

"Recovering."

Silence ate away at itself between them.

"I'm sorry," Dick whispered finally. Babs shot him a sharp look, but Dick was staring at the floor. "I should've been here. I could've done something. If I still had—"

"Shut up," Barbara said. Dick blinked at her. "Just stop. It's not fucking about you, Dick, so just shut up!" Her voice had broken from its monotone around the fourth or fifth word, and her hands were bunched in the blanket on either side of her hips. She hadn't sat up to talk with him. "Sorry you _feel bad_ you weren't here. Sorry you feel _powerless_. And I'm real fucking sorry you didn't get to rescue me. You—" She choked off into a sob of frustration, her throat too thick with emotion to keep going.

Dick stood, stricken. "I'm— you're right. I fucked up. I'll go." He went back to the window and eased it open, had just started squeezing through when Babs said,

"Wait."

Dick waited.

"I'm not sorry for saying that," Babs said. "I meant it. But you can stay."

Dick closed the window. "Only if you want me to."

"If you apologize again I'll kick your—" She cut herself off.

Dick slid back into the chair. "Then I won't." Yelling was better than flat nothing, he guessed. Especially if flat nothing was all she'd given anyone yet. "The others probably could use a yelling at, too. Have you?"

"No. But there have been a lot of drugs and tests. I'm sure I'll get around to it."

"Want me to yell at them?"

A roll of her eyes. "Defeats the purpose. The yelling is cathartic. For example, right now I feel fantastic."

It was clear from her tone that she did not feel fantastic. Dick nodded. "Do you want to go back to sleep? I don't mind."

"No. I want— I don't know. Tell me where you've been."

The request took Dick a little by surprise for an instant before he figured out she wanted a distraction. So he told her about the small, pointless adventures he'd had on the road; how he started off just heading south with no destination in mind, how he'd looped around north when the summer months hit.

He told her about the people who thought his "tattoos" were weird, or suspicious, or cool, and he told her about how no one really cares if you wear sunglasses indoors actually, because they just assume you have vision issues. He told her about doing odd jobs for people to pay his way when he needed, up to and including dragging an alligator from a pool for an elderly couple in Florida who then invited him to stay and be their pool boy.

He told her that Wally had found him, and he told her about how he could see in the dark now; how he didn't really get cold but apparently could still get too hot; and how he could eat if he wanted but didn't need to, yet still definitely needed sleep.

He wasn't sure she was really listening as he rambled on, thinking that maybe it was just nice for her to hear topics of discussion that weren't related to her spine.

"Do you dream?" she asked, when he paused for breath. His voice was a little dry; he hadn't spoken this many words together in quite some time.

"Yes," he said. "It's… a little different, but yeah." He could lucid dream, easily. And he could choose not to dream at all.

"I dream I'm awake, and I get up out of bed to go to the bathroom," Babs whispered. "Over and over again. I get up, and I walk over there, and the second I open the door I wake up for real. My brain is trying _so hard_ to make it like this never happened. To make it better. The worst part is, there's a split second when I wake up when everything is normal, like I've forgotten, and then I realize all over again that this—" She gestured at her blanket-covered legs. "Is reality now."

Dick thought about reassuring her that that sounded normal, or telling her some of the alarming dreams he'd had before he figured out how to control it. But mostly, he thought, she just needed someone to hear her. "Brains are bastards like that," he said.

"Yeah. What am I gonna do, Dick?"

She sounded so tired, he could tell she'd asked herself – and only herself – that question hundreds of times.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to not fucking be paralyzed," she seethed. "I want to be Batgirl."

"Batgirl is just Barbara Gordon in a cape," Dick said. "You're still you."

"It's not very comforting being Barbara Gordon when Barbara Gordon got attacked." She rolled her head to look at him with tired, heavy eyes. "It wasn't Batgirl he came after. And I don't see you being Nightwing anymore, after everything you went through."

She had a point. "Well… well, then I guess you'll have to be someone new."

Babs laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Sure. I'll get right on that. Hey, why do you keep touching your wrist?"

Dick stopped doing so immediately, but Babs was right. She might be in severe emotional distress and some physical pain, but she was still observant. Dick pulled up the sleeve of his riding jacket and held out his arm to show her the metal cuff circling his wrist.

Babs frowned. "Is that one of B's?"

"No. I made this one myself. It's based on his design, though."

"I thought you didn't need those anymore."

"I don't. It just… makes me feel better to have one. I put it on when I'm worried or stressed. Z's marks have never so much as wavered, but I just. Like having a backup." He ran his thumb over one of the symbols carved into the cuff and tugged his sleeve back down.

"You're still going through it," Babs said.

"What?"

"I said, 'after everything you went through.' But you're still going through it."

Dick shrugged with one shoulder. "It's better. Today's just… I was concerned. But I'm a lot better. I'm safe to be around."

"Yeah," she said, clearly a little sunk in her own thoughts. Dick waited. "I miss you," she said. "And I miss me. Us. Being friends." The _before_ went unsaid.

Dick rested his hand over hers where it lay on top of the blankets. "Yeah."

A slice of yellow light cut across the dim room, landing right on their hands. "Babs? Who are you— _Dick?_ " asked Tim, standing in the doorway and staring. He looked at Barbara's face, puffy-eyed and ruddy with sleep and unshed tears, then at their hands. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice glacial.

"Visiting Babs," Dick said mildly.

"It's past midnight. She needs sleep."

Babs' hand tensed under Dick's and he thought she might get a little extra catharsis tonight after all, but then another figure appeared in the door.

"Hey, Tim," said a blonde girl, almost exactly the same height as Tim. "You forgot your— oooh," she trailed off, catching sight of Dick and taking in the tension in the room.

"Who are you?" Dick asked.

"Stephanie Brown. Pleased to meet you." She looked from Dick to Babs. "Babs, you good here?"

"Yes, I am, _thank you_ for asking," Babs said.

"Cool. I'm gonna borrow Tim for a sec," Steph said with a bright smile. She dragged Tim out of the doorway and it clicked closed.

"He's still mad at me," Dick said.

"Steph will talk him down." She lowered her voice. "Spoiler."

"What is?"

Babs face cracked into a smile. "Steph. She'll be devastated you haven't heard of her, but she joined the Gotham roster just about a year ago while you were still… out. A little green, but a lot of potential. If she and Tim don't kill each other first."

"Does that kid just hate _everyone_?"

"He's got a lot of anger. We're working on it." Babs frowned. "Or, we were. I don't know how… this… will change things. I don't think it'll help."

"Hey," Dick said. "Don't worry about him right now. He's smart, supposedly. He'll figure himself out. You get to focus on you for a bit."

"If I don't focus on him, I'm not sure who will. Bruce has his hands full with Damian and Jason, and Tim's parents are always flying off to some conference or dig. Steph's his friend, but it's not her job to take care of him."

"It's not yours either," Dick pointed out.

"I know. But I feel like his big sister. Four years ago, it was me sitting where you are and him in a bed like this."

"Ah," Dick said, leaning back with a small thump. He rubbed a hand over his face. "Right."

"Shut up, Dick, I didn't mean to guilt trip you. Not about you, remember? I'm just saying, I feel responsible for him."

"Makes sense," Dick murmured. "But don't let it get in the way of what you need to do to heal."

Babs _tsk_ 'd.

"I'm serious," Dick protested. "Extra stress isn't going to help, and—"

"No, I mean… healing. There's not a lot of that going to be going on here."

"Babs."

"Don't you dare say one word to me about the power of positive thinking. It's midnight, I was _shot_ four days ago, and the doctors were _real_ clear about managing my expectations. I get to be a little negative."

"Okay, okay. Actually you might have a point."

"I what?"

Dick shrugged. "How many times have you said what you really felt while one of the others was in the room? Like when Tim was all 'she needs her rest' just now?"

"Ha. They'd burst into tears if I did that."

"You're trying to be strong for them. No wonder you snapped at me."

"You're very snap-at-able. Like right now, for example, I am definitely feeling the snapping urge."

"Well. That's fair."

"Is there a point to this armchair psych session?" Babs asked.

"I'm just saying, you can snap at me any time."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"If you want," Dick said with a crooked smile. "I mean it, though. You don't ever have to pretend everything is all right with me."

"Hm," Babs considered him. "We'll see. Actually," she said, before he could protest again that he meant it. "I mean, that's great, I appreciate it— but there's something else you could maybe do for me? If you're willing."

"Anything."

"Careful there, boy wonder," Babs said. "I'll hold you to that. But all I want right now is a tablet."

Dick frowned. "B couldn't get you one?"

Babs gestured at a small stack of books, crosswords, an mp3 player. "They seem to think a wifi connection will be bad for me, that Google will tell me I'm dying or something. But I _know_ how to research. It's driving me crazy not being able to. The doctor shows up maybe once a day if I'm lucky and I've thought of a billion questions by then—"

"Got it," Dick said. "Say no more. One tablet with an internet connection. Anything else?"

"B will be mad at you," Babs warned. "So will my dad."

"Oh no. Bruce has never been mad at me. Whatever will I do," Dick deadpanned.

"Tell him it's my fault and watch his face change colors as he tries to decide how to be mad at poor injured me," Babs said wryly. She rubbed at her eyes. "One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"I'm out of people energy, and I'm tired and cranky and kind of want to cry a little. Can you go away now?"

"You sure?"

"I will bite you."

"Then yes I can. Night, Babs." He stood and went to the window.

"You can use the door, you know."

"No way, Tim's out there. Probably with a flamethrower or something."

Babs snorted and Dick opened the window. "Hey Dick?" Babs said. "Don't disappear, okay?"

"Not planning on it."

The next morning, Babs woke up to find the pillow from her own bed sitting next to her. Tucked into the pillow case was her own tablet. She shot a triumphant look at one of B's cameras and got to work.


End file.
